Then Katie brought on son Harvey, 13, inset right, who has Prader-Willi syndrome and who swore live on air.

Unsurprisingly, given their love ’em or loathe ’em status, both mums were accused of dragging kids into the spotlight to promote themselves and extend their last gasp of fame.
If they were wheeling their kids out to, say, sell a product, I’d agree.

And goodness knows I’m sure we can all think of some people who have exploited their children for shameless self-promotion.

In this case, though, Kerry and Katie were doing something very different. They were trying to raise awareness of difficult issues, at odds with the image of perfection many celebs feel they need to project.

Sure, they might have been taking advantage of their place in the spotlight but the spotlight was used to highlight the realities of living with extremely challenging issues.

And Katie Price specifically declined the offer to pre-record the slot with her son because she wanted Harvey to appear “unedited”, which some might say is pretty brave.

So, actually, I applaud them both.

Families like the Beckhams showcase their kids as part of their brand, it seems

It does raise interesting issues.

Thirty years ago, if someone was famous they were a) famous for something they actually did rather than just being famous and b) you probably had little or no idea who their children were.

But so many things have changed since those innocent days.

The first is our slavish devotion to the culture of celebrity, coupled with the introduction of reality TV where nothing is off-limits, including the minutiae of people’s family lives.

The second is the advent of social media where ordinary people get to broadcast every detail of their lives if they choose to.

And then there is the relatively new cult of the parent, which has entered centre stage, with everyone from the Kardashians to the Beckhams showcasing their children, seemingly as part of their brand.

Kardashians lead the way in the new ‘cult of the parent’

Personally, I keep my kids out of my public life. If they choose to go on Instagram or Facebook then that’s up to them. But the fact is, we are all swimming in water that is relatively uncharted.

Is it OK to post a photo of your child on Facebook? Will they end up in therapy for having their toilet training habits discussed on Twitter?

What are the long-term effects of allowing your kid to be shot by the paparazzi when they accompany you to a red carpet affair? Who knows?

There’s no doubt a new generation of kids are becoming famous (the Beckham kids being a case in point) for no other apparent reason than being their parents’ offspring.

It’s hard for children trying to forge their own identity at the best of times, let alone if people can’t lay eyes on them without mentioning or at least thinking of Mum and Dad.

Aimee Osbourne became the ‘invisible’ 5th member of the Osbourne clan after not participating in their reality show

Not least because whatever they achieve there will always be a lurking question mark about whether they only got this job or that invite because of who their parents are.

And it’s not surprising that there’s a whole army of kids who have chosen to eschew the limelight and the fame that their parentage offered them just by virtue of their birth.

Look at Aimee Osbourne, who chose not to be part of filming for The Osbournes. Or Nicole Kidman’s daughter Bella, who has trained to be a make-up artist and recently started married life in the obscurity of Croydon, South London (after neither Nicole nor dad Tom Cruise attended her wedding).

Or Duncan Jones, who changed his name from the somewhat whimsical Zowie Bowie given to him by his parents at the peak of their fame. Or Keith Richards’ daughter Dandelion, who renamed herself Angela and married a carpenter.

I could go on. The point is that all kids need to forge their own identity and, for some, famous parents can get in the way of that.

Duncan Jones, aka Zowie Bowie, has shunned the limelight of father David and is now a filmmaker

I read a story the other day asking if Tamara Ecclestone’s daughter was the luckiest girl in the world because she had been given a lavish miniature version of their 57-room mansion, commissioned by her mother, to play in.

She’s two, by the way. And I’m sure she likes playing in it and everything, but what little girls — and boys — need is not houses and ponies. They just need their parents’ love and support.

And what most people want for their children is that they are happy, have high self-esteem and a sense of worth.

But there is something else that’s important, too.

That they have the freedom to follow their own dreams, not yours.

Whatever are you op to, Chloe?

WHEN someone says they won’t stop having cosmetic surgery until they “feel good about themselves”, you have to question if that time will ever come.

That’s what Geordie Shore star Chloe Ferry said when she “unveiled” a new nose job that made her pretty much unrecognisable.

So far she has had lip fillers, eyebrow-lift injections, veneers and Botox in her bid to feel good.

But surely this is a case of scratching the wrong itch.

Stop this Carry On...

I’M a huge fan of Carry On films – or at least I was, back in the day.

But the news that they are being remade makes me wonder if it’s an attempt to try and recapture a Britain that simply does not exist any more.

When they first came out, it was an age when everything was left to the imagination so their cocktail of innuendo and innocent nudge-nudge, wink-wink fun went down a storm.

But now we are living in an age when nothing is left to the imagination.

A TV show like Game Of Thrones is a positive orgy and we are encouraged to showcase our side or underboob on a night down the pub.

So I’m just not sure whether “Ooh, Matron!” will cut the mustard any more.

I hate to say it but some things – just like ra-ra skirts, Space Dust and Babycham – should be left in the past.

No mincing the words

SOMETIMES, you’ve just got to tell it like it is. Most employers – including me – have had their fair share of dud job applicants. So, next time I’m recruiting, I might take inspiration from the London butcher advertising for Saturday staff recently who wrote the most specific job ad I’ve ever seen: “No drama queens, no drunks, no drug addicts, no emotional wrecks, no Mummy’s boys, no scruffs.” The main criteria, written in red ink: “Hard working – yes.” You can’t really say fairer than that.

Chyna's just fine as she is

I KNOW only very vaguely who Blac Chyna is.

She’s Rob Kardashian’s girlfriend . . . and in case you don’t know who Rob Kardashian is, he’s Kim’s brother. And if you don’t know who she is . . . go back to Outer Mongolia.

Anyway, I really felt for Blac Chyna when I read about her tweeting replies to people who have criticised her for putting on weight.

Sure, on the one hand you could argue that if you live by the sword, you die by the sword.

Someone who so brazenly courts publicity, largely for her incredible (and often scantily clad) physique must take the rough with the smooth and accept that her body is public property to be
commented on.

Except that she’s pregnant!

The world has gone crazy when even pregnant women – who, let’s be clear, are growing a whole other human being inside them – are still expected to be “perfect” (meaning thin).

Talking of perfect . . . did you see the radically different interpretations of the same female body, Photoshopped to fit in with 18 different countries’ idea of the perfect figure? This ideal ranged from voluptuous to emaciated, curvy, wide-hipped or athletic, depending on the nation.

Surely this should help liberate us into chilling out a bit about our bodies.

Repeat after me: There is no such thing as perfect.

By the looks of it, I would have to move to Peru, where my bum might be considered relatively normal.

Man-eating disorder

MY heart bleeds for Stewart Hosie and Angus MacNeil, those two poor (married) men (with children).
They were clearly tied down and forced into an affair with that dreadful femme fatale, predator and home wrecker, Serena Cowdy (who was single at the time).
As if!
Yet again here we have an example of high-profile married men breaking their marriage vows . . . and the women involved being blamed.
Either it’s the fault of the wife, who must be so frumpy, tired or boring that she “deserved” to be cheated on.
Or his mistress is such a maneater that the poor man didn’t stand a chance.
It goes without saying of course that it’s never the man’s fault for being a two- faced, lying, cheating b*****d.

JOAN COLLINS posted a pic of herself in a skimpy bikini from 1978 with the line: “Those were the days!”

I disagree. In Joan’s case these are still the days. She was stunning then and she is stunning now. How many 82-year-olds can you say that about?

I HONESTLY had a bit of a funny turn when I read about the new HeWee Go Active, ­basically a jockstrap with a condom attached to it for men to pee in.

That’s really up there with the more disgusting things I’ve ever seen.
And frankly, what’s wrong with just using the toilet?